Friends or Foes?
by kchink
Summary: Disregard this, I just wanted to write stories about my friends.
1. Chapter 1: The Vegan

Shaan gingerly sidesteps every thin crevasse in the asphalt as he walks to Spanish. _Step on a crack, break your mother's back._ His wiry body is ready for the new day, and he stands like a young bamboo shoot, lean and tall. He is thinking hard about the hell that he must endure today. Another day of his friends mocking his lifestyle. Can't they just accept that he's nutritionally inferior? He clutches his lunch. Veganism is a lifestyle. With a single chia seed still imbedded between his two front teeth, he runs to class, with a vigor never seen before. His run is half rabbit, half crab, almost like a sprawling dance that ends only as the bell rings.

Shaan sighs. Another day, another fucking reason to hate meat-eaters. He doodles in his notebook, a drawing of India before the partition, and after the partition. I hate school, he thinks as he stares at his yearbook teacher's graying hair. I hate my friends, he thinks as they ask him if he wants any orange juice. "I'm allergic to citrus," he says dully. "Are you guys coming to the SWIRL meeting?"

He opens up his lunch, and a fair trade chocolate bar falls out. He peels the wrapper off. The bar immediately crumbles, and he looks, puzzled, at the ingredients. "100% DARK CHOCOLATE," it reads. "No dairy, not an animal byproduct." He didn't buy a chocolate bar, he bought a small package of cacao powder. Shaan wants to punch a wall. Three feet away from him, his friends whisper. Are they whispering about him? Who the fuck knows. Next in his lunch is a small bag of kale chips. They adorn his teeth with light green specks and every time he smiles, he feels as if he is really crying. Chabon walks past, and even he judges Shaan just a little bit. Oh well, at least I have my family and my love for baking, he thinks.

He BARTs home. On the way, his earbuds are plugged tightly in, and he avoids eye contact with anyone over the age of four, and anyone under the age of four. Shaan sweats profusely on BART, partly because it's hot as balls, partly because he's done something horrible. _Maybe he won't find out what I know: you were the last good thing about this part of town. (Won't find out) He won't find out (Won't find out) He won't find out…_ Fall Out Boy blasts in his ears as a steady stream of salty tears rush down his face. During lunch, he had poisoned one of his measly little friends. Was it Sylvie, who challenged his title of "best hair?" Was it Zoe, who couldn't name at least 5 songs from Twenty one pilots? Was it Hank, who he still resented for being simply white? Or was it Daisy, whose piercing intellect was simply too much? For all the times she's called him "a little bitch," maybe it was Lauren. Perhaps it was xcgracie, who challenged his skills on the racetrack. But if that was true, it could have been Trevor too. Shaan smirked. He hadn't activated the all-natural, organic, fair-trade toxin yet. Let them ask me one more time if I'm lactose intolerant, and maybe I'll kill all of them. Jessica can stay, he decided. She's cool and she has shiny hair.


	2. Chapter 2: Tricky, Tricky Love

Trevor brushed back his blond hair. He hadn't washed it in days, because Californian water wasn't worthy of cleansing his beautiful locks. He closes his eyes and imagines that he is in on a small island off of the coast of Canada. Ah…the pristine waters, the glowing sunsets. It's breaktime at school, and Trevor's mind is wandering as he attempts to deliver a cream-cheese smeared bagel to his mouth. It hits his chin area, and he is roused from his daydream.

"Trevor, do you want to get dim sum with us?" Zoe asks.

"What's dim sum?" he replied.

"Dim sum a Chinese dish of small steamed or fried savory dumplings containing various fillings, served as a snack or main course," a sultry voice whispered behind him. "How odd that you don't know such things." Trevor whipped around. He could recognize that voice from anywhere. It lulled him to sleep and awakened his innermost desires. His breath caught. He spun around.

"Nick." Their eyes locked. Time stood still around them. It was almost as if the world stopped to capture this fleeting, perfect moment of passion. Nick reached for Trevor's trembling hands and pressed them to his lips.

"Darling boy, I've missed you so." Nick says, pulling Trevor into his warm embrace. Trevor sighed as he nuzzled into the crook of Nick's neck. Far away in a whole different world, witnesses of the lovers' reunion watched in open-mouthed awe.

"I'm dead," said Daisy quietly.

"Cringe," murmured Jessica as they all watch Nick grabbed Trevor's ass. "Cringe cringe cringe cringe."

But it was Grace who really broke the silence. "He doesn't even go here!" she pointed out the obvious. It was true. Nick didn't go to school here.

"Come on, let's go somewhere a little more…private," Nick said as he lead Trevor by the waist. Trevor's skin burned where Nick's hands held him, and his head was dizzy with lust. Noticing Trevor's faintness, Nick carried him in his strong arms. They headed to the freshman English room, and closed the blinds…


	3. Chapter 3: Miralax

Shaan viciously gnawed on his chia-seed-studded brownie and looked at Daisy. She was wearing a black ensemble that bordered between "too cool" and "I'll whoop your ass in history class if your name is Shezaib." Freshmen feared her glare and cowered under her presence. Shaan grimaced. It was going to be hard to take this one down. It was true. Well versed in memes and stocked with a full mental supply of vines memorized verbatim, Daisy poses as a potential threat to his vegan uprising. He brandished his vegan butterknife under his jacket, smoothing it over his hand. Suddenly, he tripped on a rock and the butterknife went through the soft fabric of his well-loved jacket. Another hole. He sighed. No. Daisy must be targeted, but he must attack her from the inside out.

Evening came, and Shaan parked his mom's Lexus outside CVS Pharmacy. The car looked ravaged, as Shaan was not yet licensed. He stared into the glossy windows. He pulled on a lab coat and confidently walked in, his rocky gait bordering on animalistic. He was out to kill. Walking past the counter and into the room with his treasure, he ignored the confused pharmacists. He had his eyes on the goal. His walk was now a frantic run between the rows and aisles of orange prescription bottles and small paper bags. He was growing faint. Miralax. Her bowels are going to have a wonderful time. He slips it into his fanny pack and slides his shades on. Hurriedly, Shaan jogs to the car. He starts it and speeds off, nervous sweat rolling into his eyes as he screams. Sinning was a new concept.

But how would he actually kill her? Shaan became scared. _I don't have the balls to do this_ , he thought to himself. He shuddered. No. He slapped his long, giraffe-like neck. He had to do this. He was already this far in. An image of Daisy's soba noodles came clear into his mind, and everything made sense again. He would make her poop until she begged for mercy. He would make her poop until she began the necessary appreciation for vegan cheese. And once she saw the light, surely the others would follow in suit. At home, Shaan pours almond milk into a shot glass. He grimaces at its burn but smiles at its health benefits. He needed something stronger. Shaan grabs a scotch glass, and opens a bottle of 1851 single malt fermented soy drink from Japan. He pours and he sips. As he cuddles his Sailor Moon pillow to sleep, he thinks of bright raw vegetables and suspicious soba noodles.


End file.
